I, You, We
by MerhppDerhpp
Summary: But that's just a fantasy, isn't it? Our story isn't a fantasy; it's a reality and Haruno Sakura doesn't exist in this one. [Semi-AU/Canon AU. Sakura/Inner Sakura-centric. Previously known as, 'You and I.']
1. How The Quote Goes

**A/N:** Surprise, now it's a multi-chapter story with weird formatting and an experimental writing style. Hooray for angst and stuff.

* * *

 **I**

* * *

Your mother wants you to be unfailingly kind and sweet while your father wants you to be strong and unyieldingly firm.

They argue over what you should be, never once thinking that you watching them do so would hurt you or that you could be a mixture of both because humans are dynamic and _you are human, too._

You've become conflicted, but you try for their sake. They are your parents, and you love them so you _try._ It's very admirable.

So you try to be kind to those who don't deserve it. They spit in the face of your kindness and your sweet smiles because you are _strange_ in their eyes.

And that, in and of itself, is strange, isn't it? When anomalies should be considered fairly standard in a world where everything is a little odd; when anomalies _are_ considered to be fairly standard, but somehow _you_ just don't fit.

It's complicated, I suppose. People are complicated.

. . .

* * *

. . .

When you come home covered in filth and bruises, your parents use your pitiful form as examples for their own beliefs of how you should be to survive in this world. You try to calm the both of them with a tiny, shaky voice that is immediately swallowed by the ocean made of their frustrations.

I doubt they can even hear themselves over the crashing of the waves; you don't stand a chance right now.

Maybe you never have. _(Maybe you never will.)_

. . .

* * *

. . .

Next time, you attempt to be firm.

It's difficult for you because you are inherently kind and have no real wish to harm others. You try, nonetheless, and it doesn't work out well because it's too easy to shake your resolve. You are quick to cry and cover your face; to shield yourself from all the bad in the world.

It hurts you. Your chest constricts and all you want to do is hide in a corner so you can drown in the beginnings of self-loathing.

You don't understand that it's this particular moment where you divide yourself, where my disconnected existence is solidified. You don't realise, not yet. You are too young to understand that I'm here, always watching. _(Always. But I don't want to be here.)_

And though I want to help you, I can't do that if you don't acknowledge me. I can't help you if you don't listen to me. You don't understand that if you don't accept me, then the disconnection between us will widen and I'll inevitably become something that you can't be.

Your father looks at you with confliction storming in his eyes of cerulean. _(Your mother taught you that word; cerulean. Back when she would look at her husband and resentment didn't bubble between them. Back when I wasn't here and you were whole.)_ He loves you, so it's hard for him to look at you be so small and fragile for anyone to break. You've been hurt physically and emotionally, but you don't yet understand that it hurts him, too.

 _(I sometimes wonder if you'll ever understand.)_

He wants you to be strong so that you have the will to stand on your own even when he's gone. He doesn't say this, so you can't decipher the meaning in his eyes. You think he's disappointed in you, instead. _(And maybe **he**_ _**is** disappointed. In you; in your mother; in himself. __**This family is broken.** )_

Your mother tidies you up and makes you pretty. She tries to make you smile as she too realises that her child is in pain. It does little, but you still appreciate it; feeling somewhat loved and like you're not a disappointment. Even if it's only for a moment.

They are young parents, and they don't know what they're doing. You are precious to them. They want the best for you, even if their efforts are causing you more harm than good.

 _(Hell is full of good meanings, but heaven is full of good works. Isn't that how the quote goes?)_

* * *

 **I**

* * *

 **A/N:** I'll (probably) update it once a week until I catch up to what I have and proceed to drop off the face of the earth because I'm still unreliable. I am sorry.

Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.


	2. Shouldn't Be Surprised

**A/N:** Hi. You might want to go back to the first chapter if you've read this when it was a one-shot. (I mean, it's not necessary, but you know.)

* * *

 **You**

* * *

"I want to teach her how to be a ninja," your father declares from the kitchen, as you sit in the middle of the staircase and listen. He knows you're there, but he lets you think that you're being sneaky. "She needs to know how to protect herself."

"No." Your mother's voice is hard with resolve. It's much different than the soft murmurs of motherly love, you realise. "I won't have you choosing her future as a ninja."

You hear him scoff, and your tiny fingers grip the rails of the stairs as you scoot closer to it. "As opposed to you choosing her future as a civilian? Do you think you're any better?" is his quick and sharp retort. _(It feels like it cuts you, and you wonder if your mother feels it, too.)_

This is when you leave; you go back upstairs and enter your room because you've already heard this before. They don't realise that they should ask you what you want to do, but they do realise that if they were to ask, you would be indecisive.

You want to please them both. You can't.

The realisation hurts. Resentment begins to build up within your small body and you try to push away this negative emotion, along with all the other bad feelings that accompany it. _(Because that's healthy, isn't it? Bottle up the emotions and hope they don't choke you.)_

They disappear into the dark crevices of your mind; where I reside.

I reluctantly take your unwanted emotions. _(Reluctant. Resigned.)_ I know that they will change me into something that will be pleasant for neither of us. But you can't hear me, so I can't tell you to learn to accept that you're not perfect and that you never will be. I can't tell you that you don't need to be perfect.

You are beautiful in your own way. You are your own existence. You shouldn't be ashamed that you are alive, you know.

I'm sorry that I can't do more for you. As you learn to perfect an insincere smile, I'll probably come to hate you. I don't want to, but I'm sure it's inevitable. With what little time I have, left to be an existence untainted by your darkest emotions, I will try to help you in the meantime.

I know it's not enough… I know. I will try, nonetheless.

 _(All we can do is try.)_

. . .

* * *

. . .

He's very cute, I understand. He draws in your eye like he does with everyone else. There are many things to admire about him; he's an Uchiha, and the younger brother of the prodigious clan heir. Of course, there are going to be things to admire him for. He's talented and pretty and somewhat 'cool' in that special way that only children can be.

You focus too much on him, however. _(It irritates me.)_ You're toying with the idea to enter the Ninja Academy just because you know that he will, rather because of any personal desire to become a ninja yourself. _(Wow, Sakura. **Wow.** )_

Your mother will be devastated, but your father will be pleased.

That is, of course, until you inevitably tell them that it's because you have your eye on a boy that's never even looked in your direction before.

There are times when the emotions you've forced into my space spill out, back into your space and it's the only way I can attempt ̶ _(and only attempt because it rarely works out)_ ̶ to get you to rethink your decisions. It's unintentional, most of the time. Because _you're_ the one in control and _you're_ the one who seems to have developed an unhealthy habit of pushing down feelings that you don't want to feel.

 _(They'll be so disappointed to realise that you're choosing your future because of a boy who doesn't even know your name.)_

You still don't know that I'm here, that I'm actually an existence with a thought process of my own. You understand that I'm a side of you that you don't want to accept, but you don't understand enough.

 _(It's never enough. You're never enough. **We're never enough.** )_

So you think that it's only you who conjures all these words of discouragement and doubt, and so you become annoyed. Because you should be able to control yourself and your thoughts, right?

I laugh. It's a harsh, bitter thing that is swallowed by the dark and heard by no one; not even me.

. . .

* * *

. . .

You pride yourself on your intelligence; on your ability to think rationally and quickly. _(If only I could be proud of you, as well.)_

Somehow, you come up with the idea to introduce yourself to Uchiha Sasuke and get to know him a little more before you _really_ decide if you want to enter the Academy for him or not. You smile to yourself, nodding with determination as your bottled emotions are forced back into my space.

 _(It's so cramped and I feel like I'm suffocating._

 _I would shout at you in frustration, but my screams would be smothered and consumed by the emptiness around me._

 _It's devastating to realise just how bitter and broken I am steadily becoming because of you.)_

For all your proud intelligence, you don't realise that approaching your current object of fascination would put you on the radar of other little girls who are much more vicious than you are. You already have enough troubles with the few bullies already in your life, and you wish to add more on your plate by drawing the attention of others?

It's not because you can hear me that you take pause, but nonetheless, I'm grateful that you decide to think further on this. It's the small blessings that I have to appreciate, or I will be unable to appreciate anything. I don't need that, but I have quite a few things that I don't want nor need, so I'll probably get it, regardless.

You decide to learn more about him before you approach him, so that he's less likely to push you away as he does to others who are brave enough to approach. Your father would be proud, in different circumstances.

He would be proud if you were looking for the weaknesses of your bullies so that you could create a plan to cull them from your life. But you are too kind to do that to them, you often think to yourself. _(Kind, you say. **Kind?** Is that it?)_

And yet, you're somehow ambitious enough to pursue a heavily popular child of your generation.

You truly are a conflicting existence, aren't you? I already know, but I still manage to be surprised almost every time I'm reminded, even when I shouldn't be.

 _I'm_ here, after all, and I'm the biggest form of proof of your shattered being.

 _(I shouldn't be surprised. **I shouldn't be**_ _**anything.** )_

* * *

 **You**

* * *

 **A/N:** Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.


	3. Don't Make Me

**A/N:** Greetings. How's your week been?

* * *

 **We**

* * *

He's suspicious of your smile.

He narrows his eyes at you and flicks his gaze between your eyes and the practised, desperate curve of your lips. You can't fool someone like him; a clan boy who's likely used to being greeted with smiles that hide their owners' true intentions. _(He's the spare but he's still important. Connections are important.)_

You feel your heart squeeze in rising panic and despair as you abruptly and belatedly realise that you've never really had a conversation with another child ̶ _(or anyone that's not one of your parents, actually)_ ̶ before. You spend more of your time learning _how_ to socialise and _how_ to make friends rather than actually going out and approaching people. _(People are scary. I know. People are cruel.)_

You've become timid as a result of being harassed whenever you're seen by a particular group ̶ _(I want them dead and gone but they're only children themselves. Wait. Does that matter?) ̶_ and it's never helped that you've always been naturally shy. But you don't stand up against them, so they will continue to hurt you unless you can prove to them that you're not one to be bullied for their own self-esteem. _(No. It doesn't matter that they're children._ _ **It doesn't matter.**_ _)_

You're too passive, so now you're near tears in front of your fascination even though hardly any words have been exchanged. Something happens, then.

 _(Something cracks; something breaks. It's a dam. But it's okay; I'm already drowning.)_

Though unexpectedly delayed, I begin to notice of the onslaught of negativity that you're trying to force into my space. I try ̶ _(I try, I'm always trying)_ ̶ to contain it all but it's difficult and I can't keep track of what you're doing. _(It's black and white and everything grey. It's hell._ _ **It's nothing.**_ _)_

By the time things settle, the first thing I see is the irritation boiling within eyes of ink. _(I wonder if he'll see me if he glowers hard enough.)_ Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, and you chant _over and over_ in your head how this was a mistake. _(A mistake? A mistake. Yes. It was a mistake. I'm a mistake. Please, stop.)_

I'm inclined to agree as he ̶ _(Sasuke, Sasuke,_ _ **Sasuke**_ _)_ ̶ begins to sneer at you. "You're even worse than the others," he hisses at you, and you reel back in bewildered shock. You feel like your heart is shattering; some part of me hopes that it does so I can pick up a specific set of pieces to rebuild you with.

 _(I'm not supposed to think like that. What have you done? I don't want to be like this. I don't want this.)_

"You're so _fragile;_ all I have to do is glance at you to know and that's just… _No._ " He frowns as he examines you from head to toe, making you feel like he can see _everything_. It's horribly violating, in a way. "You don't fight back if someone tries to hurt you, do you? You're the kind that just _takes it,_ cries and tries to smile like everything's fine. I hate people like that; those who just can't stand up for themselves no matter what. It's illogical and I have no pity for people like you. I don't have the time."

And then Sasuke simply turns and walks away. You watch him go, frozen, before you eventually sink to your knees and feel your heart crumble within your ribcage.

 _(Harsh. True. Harsh._ _ **True.**_ _Listen, listen,_ _ **listen!**_ _Please. Please?)_

I feel your hurt; your anger. I feel it and I want you to listen because you can be so much more than you are now. You can improve by using those words for yourself. I want you to succeed, to stand strong so that you can be the best you can be. You don't have to be perfect, but you have to _try._

 _(All we can do is try until we die.)_

. . .

* * *

. . .

You come home later that day with puffy eyes and tell your parents that you will go to the Ninja Academy rather than the Civilian Academy. Your mother, expectedly, is devastated; she drops to her knees and holds her head in her hands as she grieves for her daughter's future. _(Does that remind you of anything?)_

She can only be happy that you are kind to a fault and it's _nothing_ to be happy about. Not in this world where kindness is either foolish or brave; you know which one you fall into. _(Don't you?)_

Your father observes you with his arms folded and his expression solemn. "Why?" he questions, and you swallow your saliva as your already jittery nerves become even more so.

You smile in such a way that it hurts terribly. It's directed at his feet. "I'm not okay with how I am," you whisper in answer, and it would probably bring me to tears if I were capable of crying. I'm proud of you, for this admittance.

I only want the best for you. Even if I'm starting to hate and resent you.

 _(Why won't you hurry?)_

. . .

* * *

. . .

I'm starting to dislike him, if only because of your influence.

You're torn because you still look at him with a sense of childish longing ̶ _(what do you_ _ **want,**_ _Sakura? A friend?_ _ **A boyfriend?**_ _)_ ̶ even as you remain aggrieved by his former words towards you. He doesn't make eye contact with you, even though you've been assigned to the seat next to him. _(No. You just want someone to care. **I care,** but what does that matter?)_

He doesn't like to make eye contact with anyone, really. Probably because it'd make it seem like he's interested if he does.

I wonder what his life is like at home, under the roof of his clan head and father alongside his exceptional brother. Not to mention his mother, who is renowned in her own right. Expectations are forced onto his shoulders and he can't fail them because of the consequences. _(He's better than you at that. Not perfect, but better. He does his best to survive.)_

You don't think of that, of course.

You focus more on the fact that not even your initiative to train with your father can help you in the face of emotional confrontation. You're still self-conscious; still shy and easily breakable. The others are aware because they'll look for your weaknesses just because they can, rather than for any objective reasons.

 _(It's only become worse, hasn't it? The bullying? The jeers haunt your dreams because you can_ _ **never**_ _escape, can you?)_

You're trying to contain it all and smile in forgiveness because that's what your mother tells you to do. All these emotions that you've bottled up will burst soon, and a large part of me doesn't want that to happen. _(Another part of me does. It's the part that is feral and tired of you pretending that you're okay with how things are. **Stop hurting yourself.** )_

It's not enough that you're starting to learn the basics of how to be a ninja. You need to learn how to be a person first and no one can help you with that. Only you can because _you won't let me help._

 _(You don't even know that I exist and, am I bothered? Does it bother me? Yes. No._ _ **Yes.**_ _)_

You have to acknowledge and accept me before you can start being a person. We're not meant to be separated. We're not meant to be 'you and I'. Here we are, anyway.

"You know, Sasuke-kun, if you want someone less annoying to sit next to you…" One of your female peers has approached, batting her eyes at the brooding Uchiha like they're much older than they actually are.

You're all so young. What do you care about romance? Or is it the fantasy of romance that entices you all? Sasuke; the prince. The rest of you; the princesses. I wonder if you know how that story would end?

 _(It only ends in tragedy. It can't end in any other way.)_

"Fuck off," mutters an unfamiliar voice. Crude and rough and yet, not. "Just, _fuck off._ "

I'm ̶ _(you're, we're)_ ̶ bewildered until I realise that it's a lower pitch of _your_ voice. It's only for a moment, that _I_ move _your_ eyes and meet the eyes of the boy who took your heart and crushed it. His eyes are wide with surprise, perhaps like yours are. There's another kind of emotion there that I can't quite decipher in my confusion. _(Oh, god, he sees me._ _ **He sees me.**_ _)_

Then you have your voice and your eyes back. I want to ignore this moment; I've never wanted control over you.

I've never wanted to live whilst you and I are still disjointed.

 _(Please, don't make me.)_

* * *

 **We**

* * *

 **A/N:** Warning you people now; I have no idea of a plot. It's mostly emotions and children being emotional, so I would appreciate any thoughts that you have.

Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.


	4. Deaf To My Pleas

**A/N:** Apologies for the delay (that you probably didn't notice, so it's cool, right?).

* * *

 **I**

* * *

You're afraid now.

 _("W-what did you say, you freak?!"_

 _"I ̶ I don't…! I'm s-sorry!"_

 _"She said, 'fuck off'. Here, let me say it again so you might listen this time; **fuck off.** Please.")_

You know that I'm here and he knows that I'm here, so he watches you like he's never done before. You're both delighted ̶ _(look at him, taking notice of you)_ ̶ and despaired ̶ _(he's looking at you; but he's looking **for me** )_ ̶ because the attention he gives you is too much to handle. It gains the attention of others and that's never been a good thing for you.

 _(It doesn't matter. He doesn't matter. **They don't matter.** )_

I want you to focus on me; on fixing the discordance within yourself before you go off fantasising. The gap only grows larger the longer we're apart, you have to understand. You've lost sight of something you've never found but already had, regardless.

You're losing yourself, and you don't know how to get yourself back because you've never even known who you are in the first place. You're more _absolutely terrified_ than merely afraid and that's okay. It's scary, especially when you're little more than half-a-decade old.

 _(I have no age. No name. No life. I want to stop existing. But I don't get what I want.)_

. . .

* * *

. . .

"It seems to be an intense form of Dissociative Identity Disorder," the medic-nin announces, cutting off the chakra flow from his fingers and looking to your parents as they stand behind you.

Your mother gasps, horrified. Influenced by her reaction, you yourself become horrified because you don't understand what Dissociative Identity Disorder is. _Surely_ , your mother does. _(Your mother doesn't know. She doesn't know a lot of things.)_

You stare at the medic-nin, whose glasses hang loosely off his nicely sculpted nose and it captures your attention. The light reflecting off them is pretty. "I've honestly… never seen anything like it. It's much different than the common forms of DID in the sense that this second personality ̶ otherwise known as the alter ̶ is active alongside the primary personality," he explains, as light eyes with an indiscernible colour ̶ _(beige, probably)_ ̶ slide over to you with a speculative glint.

"How do you know?" your father asks, his voice smooth and neutral as though he's unruffled by such devastating news. The implications hurt your heart.

It's a front. He's a ninja. Ninja aren't meant to reveal their vulnerabilities and _someone_ has to be the calm one in this situation. Obviously, your mother is out of the question. _(Stop being so goddamn sensitive, Sakura. Why do you have to be like this?)_

"As you know, spiritual chakra and physical chakra are separated in the head and the chest until they're merged in the centre of the stomach. Sakura-chan's spiritual chakra has branched off and is creating its own waves to reveal an active thought process. However, it's hard to detect and there's a type of disconnection between the two identities. Likely, the alter is watching through Sakura-chan's eyes at this very moment but is currently unable to control the main body."

How strange it is to be acknowledged as an existence. It's extremely anomalous. _( **It hurts.** I don't want to be here. Am I supposed to be happy about this?)_

"So how do we get rid of the second personality?" your mother demands, and I'm surprisingly offended that she speaks of me as if I'm a pest; a virus to be culled. _(I shouldn't be. I **am** a virus of sorts.)_ "Before it takes over our Sakura-chan and wears her skin like… Like some kind of puppet!"

 _(I laugh. I can't hear it. You can, though, and it **terrifies** you. **It terrifies me.** )_

The medic-nin blinks, a swirl of conflicted emotions clear in his eyes before he frowns down at you and your clenched fist. It's bleeding. You only notice now, gasping in surprise and terror because _you didn't do that._

He breathes out a tired sigh as he procures some antiseptic and bandages to tend to the wound you've made. _(The wound **I've** made? Oh, god.)_

"Haruno-san… This alter is another facet of your daughter's psyche, with thoughts and feelings of their ̶ likely _her_ ̶ own," he explains, tending to your hand with almost unnaturally gentle care. "DID usually occurs because of some kind of emotional stress in an effort to cope within a volatile environment. Forgive me, but is there…" He trails off for a moment, using one finger to push up his glasses. "Are there problems at home?"

He's suitably discomforted. It's a personal question and it's clear that he already has an inkling as to what life is like for you at home. Perhaps not the worst of environments ̶ _(they care, for all their fumbling, and he sees that)_ ̶ but neither is it the best type for a child to grow up in.

You hear your mother scoff, offended at the implications of such a query. "Are you honestly suggesting that it's _our_ fault that she's developed such a worrying mental illness?" she demands, and you don't dare to turn her way and see the expression on her face.

Your heart constricts. The room feels oppressive. I can hear you mutter things from the crevices of your mind ̶ _("It's their fault, it's theirs! I just want them to be happy! **I just want to be happy!** ") ̶ _before you abruptly attempt to shove the associated emotions into my space. As you do.

I intentionally push it away and ensure that you hold onto that feeling. You tense as you realise that I can make you _miserable._

 _(I just want you to be happy, too. I just want you to be okay.)_

"They argue," I hear myself mutter with your voice, once again noticeably lowered and dull. The room stills. "They argue about who she should be; how she should be; what she should be… She doesn't know who to be because she doesn't want either of them to unhappy with her. It's ruining her."

It's _me_ who turns and meets the medic-nin's eyes. I control your body and it's ̶ _it's hell._ I'm not used to this, to being _alive_ , even if it's only for a moment or two. I feel your heart beating like a drum within your ribcage and _it's petrifying._

 _(It tingles. Your body tingles and I feel it and **it hurts.** I want to throw up. I want to die._

 _But I don't even know what it means to be alive. How can I die if I'm not alive?_

 _Why? **Why?** Why does it have to be like this?)_

There's intrigue, wonder and pity in his eyes of beige ̶ _(Sasuke looks at you with intrigue and wonder, but there is no pity to be found. Not for you)_ ̶ because he can see the difference between us. He forms a soft, kind smile that is meant to be disarming. I can't help but distrust it. _(Your smiles are like that, and I always hope that the mirror cracks whenever you smile upon its surface.)_

"Who might you be?" queries the medic-nin, his curiosity genuine, as though I'm meant to have a name of my own. As if that wouldn't separate us even more than we already are.

I don't answer; instead, I return your body to you so that you may cry in anguish.

Now, your bullies have more to harass you with. They have something more concrete than the fact that your hair is pink; that your forehead is a little bigger than average; that you're painfully shy and kind to a fault.

Now… You really _are_ a freak because you have another entity ̶ _(an entity that is a part of you. It disgusts you) ̶_ that corrupts your body like a parasite; one that can take control at any moment.

 _(You cry. You are quiet in your sobs but loud in your sorrow. They see. **They care.**_

 _I scream. You ignore me, and no one else can hear.)_

. . .

* * *

. . .

You don't want to accept me. I am the ugliest parts of you that you despise; surely, accepting me would make you a terrible person. _(It would make you whole. It would make **us** whole. **That's a good thing.** )_

The appointments that are meant to bridge the gap between us are fruitless. _(They can't help you if you don't try.)_ Your diet and your sleeping schedule are quickly degrading because you feel sick every time you try to eat something. Worry gnaws at your insides at the idea of me taking control of your body when you manage to fall asleep. _(It's alright. You don't have to go to school in the mornings, anyway. Not for a while.)_

Further and further, you separate us. Don't you understand that widening the gap between us is a _bad_ thing? _(For fuck sake! You idiot! Why the fuck are you so usele ̶ )_ It's immensely frustrating. _(My bad. I apologise. I'm sorry. **I'm sorry.** )_

It's funny, you know; your unadulterated fear of me only makes it easier to wear your skin as my own. I'm not sure how. _("Try not to focus so much on your fears. You only give them more power that way because you subconsciously ignore everything else that you don't already expect to come true. Understand?")_

It makes me sound like some kind of monster haunting you in the night, doesn't it? Feeding on your fear to strengthen myself. I'm not a monster, Sakura. _( **I'm you.** )_

Everyone who cares is trying to help you. Your mother, who disdains my existence almost as much as I do, tries to help by cooking your favourite meals and assuring you that _you're_ not what's wrong. _(Nori-san says that she has to accept both of us. She's promised to try. Of course, it's a **lie.** )_ Your father, who tries to help by taking your mind off of the DID dilemma. Meditation, stamina training, ninja trivia, etc. You've inherited his superb chakra control, but not his grit. _(Meditation helps you hear me better, so you whimper and tremble every time he asks you to do it.)_

Nori-san is trying, and he's little more than an acquaintance. It's his job, of course, but it's clear that he's genuine in his desire to help. He gives you the option to open up to him, to talk to him about things you'd never tell anyone else. He tries to make you feel like you are worth something, that you're not a freak but a kind girl who needs help with finding herself.

You don't listen. You know that Nori-san and I have the same ideas on how to make you better; somehow, this translates in your head that I've successfully manipulated the nice medic-nin and so you can't listen to anything he says. No matter how much they make sense or how sincere he is.

 _(I think you like wallowing in your own self-pity, sometimes. I think, in some unhealthy fashion, you **like** the idea of being broken. Maybe you're the kind of person who is suffering and wants help but does **nothing** when you finally get it. On and on, the cycle goes. Right?)_

Ah, but I suppose I can't blame you entirely. We both know how your mother feels about me, and we both know how much you look up to her. _("That thing inside her is an abomination! Like some grotesque, sentient form of cancer! **Shut** **up** , Kizashi, that thing isn't my daughter no matter what you say!")_

Now, she can't even touch you without looking into your eyes and trying to see if I'm watching her through you. Like I'm not a part of you, warped and disjointed as I may be.

 _(Please, tell her to stop. **Please.** )_

There's only so much I can take before I destroy the remains of your existence and wear your skin as my own. You don't understand how empty of an existence that would ̶ _(will)_ ̶ be. I don't want that, and neither do you.

 _(But you're deaf to my pleas. Nothing has changed.)_

* * *

 **I**

* * *

 **A/N:** I've researched Dissociative Identity Disorder, but I don't know everything about it. So, I apologise if I butcher it with my ignorance and/or creative liberties. As always, I hope you enjoyed and would love to read your thoughts. (I might've made Sasuke a lot more sassy than expected, but hey. It's kind of cute.)

Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.


	5. Don't Want To Know

**A/N:** I live.

* * *

 **You**

* * *

Your fears eventually come true; I wear your body as you fall into short, fitful rests.

You're so exhausted, running on fumes and fright all the time. Your mind does its best to recover, while mine remains conscious and static. I can't sleep. This sometimes means that I am in control of your body, regardless of whether I want to or not.

 _(I'm sorry. Your body needs to rest, too. I stunt its process with my presence. I'm sorry.)_

When I'm in control, I venture downstairs to the kitchen where I eat for you. You can't keep your food down, so I must do it for you. The food is bland because I can hardly taste the flavours, but I still eat so that your body can continue functioning.

Sometimes, this is how your father finds me. As I sit at the kitchen table with some kind of food in front of me ̶ _(cereal, most of the time, because you're too small to cook effectively)_ ̶ and stare ahead with a certain sense of surrealism in the middle of the night. _(It's a mundane act; eating. I don't know if I'll ever get used to it.)_

"Sakuran," your father greets from the archway. _(Sakuran, they call me. It means,_ _ **'derangement'.**_ _Your mother suggested it.)_ He seems to hesitate before walking forward and taking a seat across from me. Our eyes meet and I am greeted with confliction, guilt, pity, worry and much more. "I would've cooked something for you if you had asked."

I stare down at the soggy cereal before me. "I didn't want to bother you," I answer, and it's true enough. I don't like to talk to anyone. It's unnerving to talk and have someone respond.

Your father shifts, discomforted and uncertain. Then he sighs and runs a hand through his slicked-back hair. _(Rose-pink. Your hair from your father. Mint-green. Your eyes from your mother.)_ He knows the true meaning behind my words and so we fall into a tremulous silence as I eat for you. He's not one for comforting and I'm not one for being comforted.

Twenty minutes of silence, save for the light clinking of a spoon against a ceramic bowl. Twenty minutes, only because I look at the clock on the wall and realise that time has passed. Time is a peculiar concept for me. I can't feel the passage of time, so I always feel as though I'm stuck in one place. Trapped.

 _(You and me, Sakura. Alone, not alone._ _ **Trapped.**_ _All we can do is try.)_

"Will you show me how to meditate?" I murmur in question, looking up from the empty bowl to a fraught father that wants to help but doesn't know how to. His eyes widen with some surprise before it melts away into a grim sort of gratefulness. He nods.

 _(But you're not_ _ **trying.**_ _)_

. . .

* * *

. . .

You're not getting better, and the times in which I inhabit your body are becoming longer. It's becoming difficult to remember certain things because there are gaps in your memories; blank spaces that are supposed to be filled. This is a horrifying revelation, as it means that I'm active in your body even when you're supposed to be awake and aware.

"Why a-are you doing this to me?" you whisper into the mirror, crumpled on the floor and looking so small and broken. Your eyes shine with tears shed and unshed. "Why is… Why is this h-happening to me? I just… I… I just want to be _normal._ "

 _(I know. I'm sorry. I don't want this, either.)_

You sob; it's a cracked, pitiful sound. You cry; your shoulders shake violently and tears and snot are leaking everywhere. It's not particularly attractive, but it doesn't matter. You're allowed to just cry without caring about how it looks aesthetically.

 _(I want to cry, too. I want to scream and shriek and hit something._

 _I don't._ _ **I can't.**_ _)_

"I'm sorry. I want you to be happy, too." I wipe away your tears and your snot. There, in the mirror, I see a mistake. An accident. _(Don't worry. It's not you.)_ "I'm sorry, Sakura."

In your body, I stand. It's time to endure the vehement glares from your mother ̶ _(or the suffocating silence of one being ignored because they're unworthy of being acknowledged, but those times are rare)_ ̶ and the grim expressions of your father as he teaches me how to condition your body properly. Since you can't do it in your current mental state, I try for you.

 _(I'm trying._ _ **I'm trying.**_ _It's not enough. I know that.)_

. . .

* * *

. . .

Sometimes, late in the night after I've eaten for you, I leave your house to go sit upon a hill that overlooks a large portion of Konohagakure. The hill is fairly isolated, located closer to the Uchiha Compound where most people seldom venture. Your father showed it to me for when I needed a place to think.

It's marginally pleasant to walk outside when the nights are cooler than the days. Unlike you, I don't like the heat; I can't see the appeal. Maybe that's because it's cold where I am. ( _It's not cold. It's not anything. Just an ever-present emptiness that eats at our soul.)_

When I make it to the top of the hill, there's an uncommon but not unfamiliar sight of a certain boy sitting close to where she usually does. Decked out in ANBU gear but his mask absent, dark eyes of jade-black slide over from the view of the village to me. _(They're similar, but not the same. One is softer; warmer. The other is not.)_

For a few moments, we simply stare at one another in silence. Assessing each other; processing the fact that neither is unfamiliar with the appearance of the other. _(You've heard from the rumour mill that he's close to being promoted to an ANBU captain soon. It means nothing to you, but I remember.)_ He eventually nods, and I nod in return.

"You are often here," he observes once I take a seat not too far from his left. It's the first time I hear his voice. _(Soft. Vaguely masculine but not yet solidified._ _ **Gentle.**_ _)_

I turn my attention to the scenery before replying, "It's nice to get away from everything for a little while, sometimes. Isn't it?"

I often wonder what he's trying to get away from, but I don't voice the question out loud. There's no need to ask such an intrusive question when he's yet to ask me the same. Truthfully, I'm not sure how I would even be able to answer such a question.

 _(I'm running but I'm not moving. Static. It's suffocating, so sometimes the wind gives me the illusion that I'm free.)_

The Uchiha heir hums in quiet acknowledgement before he lets the silence sit between us. For a little while, I'm able to think of nothing.

Then, "Haruno-san."

Your skin begins to tingle, goosebumps travelling throughout your body at the name. _(It's not my name. Don't call me that. **I don't have a name.** ) _An almost violent shiver wracks your body. _(In discomfort. In self-loathing. Nothing is mine.)_

"No."

"I apologise," Uchiha murmurs. I can't see his expression, my gaze fixed on the grass, but he shifts in my peripheral. "I did not mean to upset you."

Forcing out a sigh, I feel your body relax. "Sakuran," I say, still neglecting to turn and meet his gaze. "If you need something to call me; call me that." But it's not my name. It's little more than a pseudonym.

A moment of silence. "Sakuran-san, then," he eventually replies. "Call me Itachi."

That's when I turn to finally look at him. His face is tilted towards me, but he's looking up at the sky ̶ _(at the moon; you always wonder if anything is on there)_ ̶ with the same neutral expression as before. Albeit, somewhat calmer. Somewhat peaceful. _(But not entirely. **Never.** Not for him. Not for me.)_

"Itachi-san, then," I echo. I don't question why.

 _(I don't want to know.)_

* * *

 **You**

* * *

 **A/N:** Apologies for the delay, there's only so much angst I can take before I desperately need joy in my life to balance it. Meaning, My Hero Academia's finally kicked me in the head (I've been trying to avoid writing anything for it for so long, my poor beta) and now the fanfiction I'm writing for it has taken over my entire existence. So, there's that. How are you?

Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.


	6. The Both Of Us

**A/N:** Sorry, it's been a while. I'd like to thank **Mooky** and **Quasi a la Modo** for motivating me enough to actually get this chapter out.

* * *

 **We**

* * *

"Did you choose to be who you are now, Itachi?" I whisper in question, staring up at the darkened sky and wondering would it would be like to fly. Maybe it would be nice to feel weightless and unchained for a moment, before gravity clutched onto your body and dragged us back down.

I see Itachi tilt his head in thought from the corner of your eye, but he doesn't respond immediately. "I do not believe that many of us get to choose who we are in life," he murmurs in response. Despite the lack of a straightforward answer, it still feels as though it's a statement that he personally resonates with. I understand.

 _(I have no choice. It's you who chooses, and you can't even do that properly.)_

It's a strange thing; this bittersweet sort of camaraderie between Itachi and I. _("We have known each other for a while, now. Do you not feel the passage of time?")_ You still don't know about him, and you're probably better off not knowing. Perhaps you would be excited to know the brother of the boy who holds your affection; perhaps you would be restless. Either way, we both know it wouldn't work out well for you. _(Can you tell me what's worked out well for you, Sakura?_ _ **Can you?)**_ I suppose you are a good example of what the term, _'ignorance is bliss',_ embodies.

 _(I'm here;_ _ **you know I'm here.**_ _But you're still so blissfully ignorant, Sakura, and the pain won't go away._

 _ **The pain won't go away.**_ _)_

"What would you choose to be?" Itachi inquires after one of our many prolonged silences. _(And yet, there's still sound. His soft breaths. The quiet hisses of the wind against your ears. The odd sound or two from the village I can't call my home.)_ Somehow, it's become an unconventional standard for us to ask one another questions about the other. Maybe to get to know each other. Maybe to distract ourselves from the demons that haunt us.

He rarely uses my pseudonym, if he can help it. Itachi knows what it means to me ̶ _(it means_ _ **nothing**_ _and yet it means_ _ **everything**_ _I don't want to be)_ ̶ so he considerately avoids using it for my benefit. _(Is it supposed to hurt; feeling grateful? Appreciative?_ _ **Why does it hurt so much?**_ _)_ In return, I call him by his first name. Itachi. Just, Itachi; the boy upon the hill with the solemn gaze and warm ̶ _(hurting)_ ̶ heart whom I may be able to call my friend.

 _(It makes me want to scream. I don't… I'm not meant to have friends. I don't._ _ **I can't.**_ _But I have one, anyway, and I can't even be happy about it because_ _ **I don't know how to be.**_

 _How can I be happy that I have a friend when_ _ **you have none?**_ _It's not me who needs a friend, but life is cruel, isn't it?)_

I exhale, taking a few moments to blink away the dryness in your eyes. The answer to his question is both easy and annoyingly complex because, "I would choose to be whole." And how pathetic is that? That there's nothing more to aspire to than to just be a whole, human being named Haruno Sakura. It's such a low standard and yet… it's so out of reach. _(You make things so_ _ **difficult,**_ _I don't understand_ _ **why**_ _̶ )_

"When you are a ninja," Itachi begins, his voice almost swallowed by the building gust of wind, "you eventually lose parts of yourself." I tilt my head towards him, but I don't turn to look at him. Instead, I stare at the rippling blades of grass and think of nothing. "Every day, many of us struggle to fill the holes in our souls. I am one of them, and I do not believe that it is bad to have the simple wish of being whole."

Feeling his gaze on my face, I finally build up the effort to lift your head and meet it with your own. _(He's warm and he's cool and soon, I will have to say goodbye.)_ "Maybe you can meet her, one day," I offer, regardless of how much they feel like pretty, empty words. "The whole, functional kunoichi known as Haruno Sakura."

The smile he gives me is heart-wrenching in its bittersweet, sincere meaning. His eyes shine with what would seem to be the sheen of unshed tears, and when I blink, I think your eyes might be the same. _(Your lips are twisted, but I don't know if that's a smile. It hurts, and yet it's not as wide as yours._ _ **Does everything have to hurt?**_ _)_

"I would like that," he accepts, reaching over to grasp your hand with his own. Itachi doesn't acknowledge the instinctual flinch that physical contact evokes, instead allowing me to take my time with getting used to his touch. I think it takes more time than I think it feels like, but he doesn't seem to mind.

 _(He doesn't say,_ _ **"Maybe Haruno Sakura will be able to meet Itachi, one day."**_ _Because we both know that, as improbable as my offer is;_ _ **his is simply impossible.**_

 _ **My friend, Itachi.**_ _If I could cry, I would cry for him, too.)_

. . .

* * *

. . .

You can't breathe. Your heart is thumping in your ears and threatening to travel up your throat and choke you. Rocking back and forth, you cover your ears in a futile effort to block out the world around you.

They're screaming, arguing once more about whose fault it is that this family is a wreck. You can't move from the lounge room, hiding behind the couch as the kitchenware clatters from the adjacent room. _(You're frozen, hiding away like a terrified mouse whose heart is about to fail._ _ **I can help, you know.**_ _Even if it's not the best way.)_

"Her condition is worsening and you're _not_ helping!" your father snarls, his spiking chakra so prominent and frustrated that it fills the air and soaks into the walls. "Why can't you fucking accept that they're both our daughter?! Because they are, and the fact that you think one of them is a _thing_ rather than a _person_ helps no one!"

You violently flinch at the abrupt shattering of some kind of ceramic object. "Because they're not! Sakuran isn't even _human,_ let alone my daughter!" And that ̶ _that sears. (_ _ **But it's the truth, isn't it?**_ _)_ "Do you see how empty its eyes are when it's using our daughter's body as a flesh suit?! Do you?! Our baby is being eaten away by this monster and _you want to accept it!_ "

Their voices become muffled, then, just as your vision begins to blur and darken. You feel nauseous and you want to throw up, but you can't do more than rock back and forth in a constant, repetitive motion. _(It's not helping.)_ You don't even notice the snot and tears that soak your face, your body ̶ _(_ _ **your entire soul**_ _)_ ̶ too overwhelmed and on the verge of shutting down.

It's at this point that you think about how things might be better if you just stopped existing. You think that, maybe, they'll be happier if you just… _disappeared._ Then, they wouldn't have to argue anymore. They wouldn't have to worry about you or be forced to provide for you. Nori-san would no longer have to deal with you, so he'd be able to focus on more important things.

No one will miss you. ( _ **How dare you think ̶**_ )

"Please," you sob, and I pause as you try to talk through your dry heaving. "S-sa…" You don't manage to finish your sentence, but I understand.

 _(_ _ **"Save me."**_ _)_

. . .

* * *

. . .

"I'm afraid to say that Sakura, the primary personality, has fallen into dormancy due to a severe mental breakdown," Nori-san announces, no happier than your parents ̶ _(no happier than_ _ **me,**_ _oh god, why?)_ ̶ at the confirmation. He heaves a deep, solemn sigh before, "That means that Sakuran, the alter, has become the dominant personality indefinitely."

Your body is shaking, and I sharply exhale as I attempt to calm it. Your mother screams in anguish, the sound so piercing and yet so unexpectedly dull in your ears. There's a clatter of something, but I don't turn to look. _(I don't want to.)_

As your mother falls to the ground, your father is there to kneel by her as she clings blindly to him for non-existent comfort.

I breathe in your place. _(And I hate it.)_ I move in your place. _(And I hate it.)_ I live in your place.

 _(_ _ **And I want to die.**_ _)_

Tilting my head towards a silent Nori-san, who shifts in acknowledgement at my attention. "I'm going to go… for a walk," I breathe out, standing from the cold, metal chair to make my way towards the door. _(I need to get away; to mourn for the sleeping, broken soul that I've tucked away into our essence.)_

"Alright," Nori-san replies. "But please, don't go too far."

As I nod, I catch the eye of your father ̶ _(Kizashi; it's time to call him that) ̶_ before I leave. His expression is like crumbling stone; he's trying, but he's grieving just as much. He looks at me ̶ _(at the body that's no longer yours because it hurts to live)_ ̶ and he sees his ̶ _(their)_ ̶ failure. I stand before him until he nods in resignation and lets me go. _(Your mother never looks up. She sobs into her hand and she doesn't stop._ _ **I envy her,**_ _in this moment.)_

I don't look back as I close the door. Then I wander, left to my thoughts ̶ _(what joy, indeed)_ ̶ and the environment of the sick and the dying. Maybe you would've been a medic-nin at some point. I think you would've been a great medic-nin, what with your inherent kindness and desire to help others. I think… I would've liked to see you be a combat medic-nin, so that you could hurt just as you could heal. Because the world is cruel, and people step on kindness and compassion if you let them. You would have to protect yourself, after all.

 _(But that's just a fantasy, isn't it? Our story isn't a fantasy;_ _ **it's a reality and Haruno Sakura doesn't exist in this one.**_ _)_

Perhaps I'll have to do it, instead; become a medic-nin that can hurt and heal and poison and break. _(We already know how to hurt; how to poison one another; how to break each other. All we need to do, now, is learn how to heal.)_ I'll think about it. Even if I don't become one for us, iryou ninjutsu would be useful, regardless. _(I can't die before you've decided to live again._ _ **I can't do that,**_ _Sakura, no matter how much I want to.)_

My train of thought is broken as I'm about to pass a room that has your object of fascination held within it. I pause, taking a moment or five to register the back of his weirdly-shaped hair; the hospital gown draped over his small, somehow defeated form; and the fact that he's here, sitting up in a hospital bed and staring out the window with no one for company.

Your chest tightens, a sharp sting of pain seizing it and immediately reminding me why I don't want this. _(Why I don't want a life without you and me as one person. But I don't get what I want,_ _ **I know.**_ _)_ I step forward, anyway, my footfalls quiet despite the suspiciously barren hallway as I enter his room before closing the door. _(A part of me wonders how I managed to get to this part of the hospital, but the rest doesn't care.)_

"Sasuke."

His hand twitches. Then, gradually, he removes his dead-eyed gaze from the window and places it on me, instead. For what feels like a long while, Sasuke simply stares through me, unable to properly register my presence with his shattered existence distracting him. _(We can relate.)_

Then, he blinks; gradual recognition brightening his eyes somewhat to give him at least some sort of life. I wait patiently ̶ _(I wait aimlessly) ̶_ for him to finally reply, since there's not much else that I have to do. _(How am I supposed to live for you?)_

"You…" he mutters, his hoarse as though he's been screaming for days. Maybe he has been. His eyes search your face, looking for some kind of confirmation. I blink, and so does he. "You're back…"

Something about that hurts. I feel your face form into a bemused frown as I take a few steps closer to the side of his bed. "Were you waiting for me?" I ask, conflicted on how to feel about the fact that he recognises me; _that he_ _'s been_ _waiting for me._ _(I don't want hope. I don't deserve it.)_

Sasuke's head droops slightly, a slow blink further emphasising his fatigue. It seems to trigger a similar reaction in your body, as I feel a weariness begin to weigh down your shoulders. "Maybe…" he whispers. "Sakura took a leave from school… So… So, I couldn't look for you. I don't know why I… What was the point…?" He stares down at his bandaged hands, spreading his shaking fingers as if they might have the answers to his questions.

"Sakura's gone, now," I reveal, watching his fingers twitch at the information. "What's been taken from you, Sasuke?"

 _("Have you ever felt the inevitability of tragedy, Itachi?"_

 _"Yes. I feel it. I fear that I will always feel it.")_

Surprisingly, Sasuke huffs out a weak puff of air at the query. His fingers curl until they've become tight fists, his head lifting enough to let me see the barest hints of a wry smirk. "Just… _everything,_ you know…? My parents… My cousins, my aunts… My uncles… All dead; murdered by my brother… Of all people. No… _No big deal…_ " His breath hitches, his attempt at sardonic humour failing as he fights back an unwanted sob.

 _("I apologise. I know it is presumptuous of me to request that you keep my brother company when I am gone.")_

"Do you…" I grimace, unsure of how to deal with a broken Sasuke that's on the verge of crying. "Do you want me to leave?" Because he probably wouldn't appreciate me watching him like some kind of weirdo as he grieves for his fallen clan.

" _No!_ " he chokes out, his voice cracking as he scowls at me in offence. "You think you can… come in here a-and make me _feel_ something again… then just _leave_ when I'm… W-when I'm…?"

I exhale as he trails off, a dull sense of guilt gnawing at me as I watch him hunch over and clench his chest as he weeps in desolation. _(Rocking back and forth, unable to breathe, see or hear properly;_ _ **you begged me to save you.**_ _)_

"My bad," I murmur, before climbing up the bed to sit with him. And despite his current state, he moves to accommodate. _(It hurts me, and I don't know why.)_ Although, he doesn't really give me a chance to settle when he violently seizes your hand with his own. Somehow, we _both_ tense and flinch at the contact before he forcefully intertwines his fingers with yours like vines entangling together.

Sasuke glowers at me, his face all red and wet and snotty. _(It's almost cute; in a desperate, sad way._ _ **Like you.**_ _)_ "Why aren't _you_ crying?" he snaps in question as he holds onto your hand like a lifeline. I assume he asks because he doesn't want to be the only one bawling. "You… You lost S-Sakura, didn't you?"

Your mouth abruptly twists _̶ (is it a grimace, or is it a smile?) ̶_ your chest tightening as something stabs it incessantly. Sasuke blinks, seeming to take in whatever expression I'm forcing your face to make. I squeeze his hand with enough force to bruise it, but he barely seems to react. I suppose he's not the only one who needs a lifeline.

 _( **How does he know,** I wonder? How does he manage to see you and me as different entities? Why does it feel like **relief** and **devastation** mixed into one?)_

"I can't cry, Sasuke," I answer. _(With self-loathing. With guilt. With_ _ **anger**_ _and_ _ **resentment**_ _because_ _ **why did you have to be the one to leave?**_ _)_ "No matter how much I want to."

 _(Maybe, he can cry enough for the both of us.)_

* * *

 **We**

* * *

 **A/N:** So, I wanted Sasuke to be a little more sardonic than his canon counterpart because that seemed interesting. Hopefully, he reads alright. (But yeah, deliberate OOC all about, yay.)

Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre.


	7. Familiar With The Flavour

**A/N:** I live, hi. Long time no see.

* * *

 **I**

* * *

"That's it," Kizashi says, his voice carefully neutral as I wait outside, between the front door and the open window beside it. "We have all we need."

Mebuki shifts, her body gently thudding against a wall or a counter. She takes a deep, sniffling inhale. "I loved you," she whispers, almost inaudible for me to hear. "Maybe… I still do. I don't understand why things turned out the way they did, Kizashi… Where did we go wrong?"

 _(Is that rhetorical? Or is it genuine? How can she_ _ **not**_ _see where things went wrong?)_

"We married young," Kizashi replies, so still and stoic. "Maybe that was our first mistake. We rushed into creating a family because of my occupation and, as a result, we weren't prepared to be parents. Our child deserves better from us."

A sharp exhale escapes Mebuki as she sobs, "She's gone, Kizashi…! Our baby is gone and I… I don't know if I can ever forgive ̶ "

"Don't finish that," he interrupts, firm but not sharp. Just tired. The fabric of his clothes rustle as he begins to move towards the entrance. "Whoever you're thinking about probably doesn't want your forgiveness. Whether it's you, me or our child. So, it'd be probably best if you stop thinking like that."

"Kizashi ̶ "

"I'll see you, Mebuki." Then he closes the door behind him and doesn't look back.

The sound of your mother's muffled sobs echo within your ears.

 _(You can't hear her. You can't hear anything.)_

. . .

* * *

. . .

Sasuke squeezes your hand to the point that it should hurt ̶ _(the warmth scares me more) ̶_ as he physically refrains himself from snarling at the whispering villagers that they're passing by. He fails at some points, such as when someone is too close for his comfort.

He reminds me of a wounded dog that'll bite anyone who's a threat. _(You remind me of a dead one who gave up on trying to live through another day.)_

"How far is it?" he asks with a near hiss, his shoulder brushing up against yours and making it somewhat awkward to walk properly. "I'm going to punch someone in the face if we don't get there soon. Hasn't anyone told them that it's rude to stare and whisper _like a bunch of dicks?_ " He makes a point of raising his voice at the end.

Several people in my peripheral flinch. Some hastily look away, embarrassed. Others sneer, probably with distaste for the Uchiha's ̶ _("I swear to god, Sakuran, if they call me 'The Last Uchiha' within earshot_ _ **one more fucking time,**_ _I will backhand someone!")_ ̶ uncouth manner of speech.

I don't manage to catch any other reactions as I make a turn down an empty alleyway and quietly reply, "We're nearly there. One of the conditions for letting Kizashi have custody over you was making sure that we lived near the Hokage's office." It also just so happens to be close to the hospital, too, so the pair of us don't have to travel far for our future evaluations on our sketchy mental health.

"Obviously," Sasuke mutters with a bitter click of his tongue. "It's surprising that they let me go with anyone at all, let alone an independent genjutsu specialist. Scheming dipshits." He spits to the side as if the very thought of scheming old people brings forth a repugnant taste in his mouth.

In the time that we've gotten to know each other ̶ _(three months, two weeks, four days; I still can't feel time move) ̶_ I've come to the realisation that your object of fascination has an unusually foul mouth for a main branch member of the Uchiha clan. _(Does it still count if he's the only one left? Does Itachi count if he's a traitor who killed them all?)_ In class, he hardly spoke at all, preferring to scowl in silence and spend as little time with his peers as possible. Of course, it wasn't unheard of for him to occasionally spit out something acerbic, but it was uncommon.

 _(You thought of him as mysterious and cool and confident; someone whom you wanted to be. But now you're not here to be anyone. Not even yourself. Whoever that was.)_

As of late, though, he seems to talk and hiss at everything with dramatic visual flair. _("Do you think I_ _ **want**_ _to deal with awkward silences because we're both too dead inside to talk? No. No, I don't. So, I have to sacrifice some of my remaining sanity to make sure I don't have to deal with it.")_ It's… odd, but it might be a coping mechanism and I've unwittingly gotten used to his eccentricity.

 _(Sometimes, he makes me smile. Sometimes, he makes me happy. And I hate myself a little more every time.)_

"Kizashi won't be home for a few weeks," I tell him as we enter the apartment building and head for the stairs. His grasp tightens when your hand nearly detangles from his. _(How long will he keep doing that? It doesn't seem healthy.)_ "But I still have a training schedule that I have to follow."

 _(I just want to sit in a corner and_ _ **die,**_ _Sakura. I just want to be whole. But you didn't let us be and I_ _ **hate ̶**_ _)_

Readjusting the strap of his bag, Sasuke responds with, "Right, cool. I'm joining even if that wasn't an awkwardly cryptic invitation of some sort. I'd like to see how long it takes before I collapse in exhaustion and proceed to hate myself more than I already do. Which is a lot, just so you know."

Your lips twitch involuntarily until it becomes a small smile that I can't wipe away fast enough.

 _(Three months, two weeks and four days without you.)_

. . .

* * *

. . .

I watch as Sasuke survey the three bedroom doors before he casually opens the one leading to mine ̶ _(it should be yours; ours)_ ̶ and walks straight in. Following him, I come to the quick realisation that he's quite aware of the fact that this is my room as he places his bag on my bed and begins to nonchalantly unpack.

"Sasuke," I mutter, already half-resigned because arguing takes too much energy. _(Being alive takes too much energy. Breathing is automatic and yet it still feels like a chore.)_

"Sakuran," he mutters back, albeit more drawled out and vaguely petulant.

Looking over my shoulder, the door to Sasuke's room greets me. The door to Kizashi's room is further down the hall. "You should go unpack in your room," I try, turning my attention back to my new housemate. Roommate?

As he easily finds an empty drawer ̶ _(I don't have a lot of clothes; yours are back with your mother) ̶_ he begins to fill it with his clothes. Lots of blue shirts with obnoxiously high collars. Lots of black pants and compression bandages. "This _is_ my room, weirdly bare as it is," retorts Sasuke, who seems to be actively avoiding my gaze. "We're going to share, didn't you know?"

"Sasuke…" This isn't healthy. _(When has it ever been?)_ He shouldn't get attached to me. _(I don't want to be here.)_

A harsh exhale escapes the boy ̶ _(broken, jagged Sasuke whose edges dig into me) ̶_ before he quietly reveals, "I'd only ever go to sleep in the hospital when you were there with me." I don't respond. He continues to fill the drawer with his belongings. For a while ̶ _(maybe; I don't know) ̶_ the rustle of fabric is the only sound to be heard. Eventually, he breaks the silence with a soft murmur of, "I _know_ it's the same with you."

 _(It's an accusation. It's a plea and Itachi asked ̶ )_

I sigh in defeat and Sasuke grins to himself in triumph, his movements no longer rigid with tension.

. . .

* * *

. . .

It turns out that he's better than I am at cooking, mostly because he cares more about taste than I do. _(I don't eat for pleasure. I'm still trying to get your body out of its state of malnutrition.)_ So, he takes the lead over preparations for dinner.

"Hospital food was straight fucking trash," Sasuke complains as he works on the tamagoyaki ̶ _(we had to go out and buy the specific pan for it, alongside a suspicious amount of tomatoes and other groceries and it was almost nice to see him positively animated in public) ̶_ with a notably practised ease. I wonder if he learned because he wanted to or because he had to. "I know you don't give a shit about your tastebuds, but I have standards, alright? I need salt and seasoning and probably a reason to live. Do you think revenge is a good one?"

Shaping the onigiri, I think of Itachi and his sorrowed existence. Itachi and his request to look after his beloved little brother. "What level of revenge?" I absently question.

 _(I miss him. I miss you. Both you're both_ _ **gone**_ _and I don't know if either of you will ever come back. If either of you can.)_

Sasuke hums in contemplation. "Maybe a good punch to the dick," he muses, his tight grip on the handle of the pan belying his casual tone. "And/or a mind rape of epic proportions and a possibly futile demand for him to explain why he decided to be all like, 'sorry, bro, I had to test my strength by literally murdering everyone in our clan except you because reasons, you get?' before peacing out like an _asshole._ Which is, by the way, fucking off. I mean, Itachi was ̶ " He cuts himself off, most likely because his tone almost becomes fond. He tries again, "He was always a weirdo with his obsessive overprotectiveness, but he'd never…" A frustrated sigh leaves him and he evidently gives up. "You know what? I'm going to focus on the food or we're going to be eating my angry tears for dinner. Do you want my angry tears, Sakuran?"

"No," I breathe out, mildly amused despite myself. _(You're not here and I don't deserve to be happy, so the guilt rots within your flesh.)_ "Maybe another time."

. . .

* * *

. . .

When the food is set on the table only meant for three, Sasuke cries at the sight and we end up eating his grief tears for dinner.

It's the first time I'm able to taste anything and I wonder if it's because I'm already familiar with the flavour.

* * *

 **I**

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry for the long delay, I didn't get enough bitter tears from traumatised children to sustain me for a while. Somehow, I managed to scrounge up enough to get this chapter out. (Special thanks to the guest who reviewed somewhat recently and reminded me of my solemn duty to write sad kids being sad little shits.)

Also, regarding the question of Sakuran's gender; I think of Sakuran as female (you might find some third person 'she/her' slips here or there) but I think it would work if anyone wanted to consider her male or non-binary, especially since she has a fairly androgynous appearance. (See cover photo for reference.)

Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.


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